


don't you want a life like we saw on the picture show?

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Work Etiquette, Bottom Theon Greyjoy, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Language Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, On Set, Oral Sex, Quickies, Robb Stark is a Gift, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Robb Stark, Worst Work Environment Ever Tbh, guys if you're a margaery fan PLEASE SKIP THIS, irish starks, mild xenofobia Because The Work Environment Sucks, not that the employers deserve it, porn with barely there plot tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16087472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “Does it console you if I tell you that my first gig was me playing the son of some crook because someone in production looked me up and figured that if my father was locked up for not having paid taxes on his business for about twenty years and a few other not so menial things, then I was the perfect choice?”“… Not really because it just confirms that this industry is shitty and we’re two masochists for even wanting to work in it.”“You won’t find me disagreeing,” Theon says, “but hey, could’ve been worse. Imagine if they cast in our place anyone from the prissy kind of acting school who doesn’t get the point of scrubbing come off cinema chairs for the love of the craft.”“Shit,” Robb grins, “right, you’ve got a point. Well, to surviving the next month.”“Hell, we’re going to need it,” Theon says, clinking his glass against Robb’s again.Yeah, Robb thinks, we’re going to need a lot of alcohol to get through it.A lot of it.





	don't you want a life like we saw on the picture show?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theonlyparadiseisparadiselost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlyparadiseisparadiselost/gifts).



> GOOD LORD I'M LATE BUT I'M FINALLY HERE WITH MY THEONEXCHANGE CONTRIBUTION FOR THIS ROUND which was for the lovely theonlyparadiseisparadiselost/theon-greyjoy-stark on tumblr who asked for _they are both actors for a hallmark type shitty movie and fall in love on set despite obvs not acting as the main couple (BONUS POINTS if they are supposed to be the two male rivals of the straight love triangle)_ plus explicit rating and language kink, and like I SAW IT AND I HAD TO GO FOR IT I just hope it's anything like what you had in mind because like half of this thing ended up in another direction than what I had planned and idek. ( ~~Also it's not as down-and-dirty-d/s as I was thinking of but I hope it's fine anyway hahaha IDEK WHAT THOSE TWO EVEN WANTED TO DO /o\~~ )
> 
> Now, warning the first: I put it on the tags, but this fic is _not_ paying Margaery any favors and it's... probably not the fairest portrayal I could give but I'm Not A Fan and I needed someone in that role so like... I warned you /o\
> 
> Warning the second (not really a warning, but): I went with my usual Irish Starks headcanon also because it fit what the requester wanted. I'm.... currently actually trying to learn the language for Reasons (ie: I've been wanting to for ages and I've recently found a decent grammar) so I tried to triple-check as much as I could of what I put in this on both grammar/dictionary and the likes and I _think_ the places where I went looking for advice were legit but if I got anything wrong I apologize in advance pls feel free to tell me the correct version.
> 
> Warning the third: they're in London in the early-ish Eighties, the xenophobia tag is for _that_ and because the movie is _that_ kind of Bad Movie With Stereotypes but just in case, no one here appreciates the Bad Stereotypical Movie if it's not clear already.
> 
> ... Also, the title is from a Brian Fallon song, I own absolutely fucking nothing except the plot and I'll saunter back downwards now and leave this here.  <3 /o\

_Good thing I decided I should get to the workplace early_ , Robb thinks to himself as he waits for the tube train to bring him to the damned production building.

He has the script in his hand, but it’s not worth to revise now, not when the train should be here in a minute. He hopes it is, because it’s fucking _cold_ here, and not just so, but _damp_ cold, the worst kind of, and if only London wasn’t the best place to at least somehow _make it_ (not even make it big, just _make it_ ) if you want to act on this side of the Channel Tunnel, he so would _not_ be here.

As if.

The train rides up to the platform — good thing it’s empty, but it’s also six in the morning and he only could find an apartment in fucking Zone _Four_ , sitting on the train is about the only good thing about it. He sits, sighs, reads over the script again.

What a fucking joke.

He’s _never_ going to tell his parents that he accepted to star in this piece of crap pseudo- _A Streetcar Named Desire_ , except that it’s named _Lucky in Love_ and — it’s some _horrible_ drivel set in Dublin (because _of course_ Dublin is the only city existing in Ireland), where the protagonist is forced to move for work reasons after a bad break-up that brought her to a horribly written nervous breakdown. _There_ , she finds herself in between her nice, shy British neighbor who is also a stranger in a strange land and the construction worker Irish neighbor, as in, _him_ , who is also — fuck’s sake. He had swore to himself he was never going to play the stereotype and here it is in all its glory — this asshole is named McDonald (he’s _never_ going to explain the writers that it’s more common in fucking Scotland), drinks Guinness like water (Robb’s always been more of a Smithwick’s guy but _of course_ it’s the only beer Irish people drink, don’t you know?), speaks Irish Gaelic in all the wrong places ( _all_ of it in the script is wrong), and the entire charme he has is that he’s _wild_ and _exotic_ and it makes her feel _trasgressive_ , and of course he can only cook potatoes and has to wear green contacts because the blue _isn’t enough_.

Honestly, if he could have afforded to pass on it he’d have _never_ even auditioned, but then again he went out of desperation because the casting call required _specifically_ the Irish accent and until now everything better he tried out for ended up in a rejection because _he sounded too Irish_ , and let’s not even get into the not-so-crypto-xenophobic comments he had to hear from more than a few people in the lest six months. And since the money he had brought over from Cork had started winding down _and_ he has to pay his rent and the metro subscription, he had gone for it because they also promised half of the payment upfront and admittedly, the money’s good enough that with the aforementioned half he _could_ cover his expenses for another few months.

Hopefully enough to find a theater job or _something_.

Anyway, they start doing table readings today and he hasn’t met the rest of the cast yet, but he’s met the writers (arseholes, all of them), the director (the kind who’s there to make money in hopes to finally shoot some good indie movie and therefore can’t give a fuck about the entire thing) and the accountant (another arsehole), and at this point he’s only glad that this whole thing is supposed to take a month tops to shoot, because he doesn’t know if he could have held on for longer.

Well.

He just has to get through this mess, earn his money and _delete_ it from his CV as soon as he can afford to. Easy, right?

Yeah, as if.

He settles down for the ride, re-reading the script and hating every single word. Fuck, at least it’s _never_ airing outside England, even if it’s high-profile enough that they’re shooting it at Teddington’s. He has no idea on which channel they mean to air it after, but he doesn’t even want to know.

As long as no one back home ever knows it exists, he’ll be fine with getting his money.

——

The production building — not far from the sets, but they have to do the table reading there first — is your usual gray London building that makes him miss the flat he had in Cork while he was studying _and_ his parents’s farm. At least it wasn’t so _gray_ everywhere and every single animal his parents raised on their farm was better company than most production executives he’s ran into.

He’s even twenty minutes early. Fine enough. He rings the intercom, says he’s Robb Stark and he’s here for the _Lucky in Love_ reading. He’s told to check in with the security and then reach the second floor.

The security checks him thoroughly and lets him go after four jokes about IRA that Robb does _not_ appreciate, but he keeps his mouth shut rather than falling for it. He takes the elevator to the second floor. It’s as grey as the outside concrete. Maybe he should have taken the stairs, but he’d really rather _not_ run into any other human being if not necessary.

Then, the moment the doors open, he’s greeted by a middle-aged woman in a brown pantsuit who looks at him as if she’s nowhere near impressed.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah,” he replies, extending a hand. “How do you do.”

She shakes it curtly. “I’m Barbrey Dustin, the production secretary. Please, do follow me.”

He follows her into a large-is room with some fifteen chairs in a circle and a few people at the window — right, there’s the producer, Mace Tyrell, who Robb thinks agreed to produce this drivel just so he could have his daughter star in it, and she’s not even here yet. Then there’s the director — Robb’s talked to Jorah Mormont some three times during his auditions and the man is _so_ obviously here for the money, Robb can’t even judge him. _He_ is here for the money. Ah, and there’s the scriptwriter with them — he’s this tempted to go up to Mr. Lancel Lannister and tell him that if he has a problem with his own alliterative name it doesn’t mean _everyone_ in Ireland has one, too, but he needs this job _and_ the money they paid him upfront.

Well, he’s an _actor_ , he can do this.

He plasters on his best smile and follows Barbrey up to their group.

“Mr. Tyrell, Mr. Mormont, Mr. Lannister,” she says, sounding so bored she could fall asleep, “he’s early.”

Wow, not even an introduction? _Nice_.

“Mr. Tyrell,” Robb says, extending a hand. “How do you do.”

“Oh, you’re… Stark, right? Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking without too much conviction. Lannister is the same. Mormont rolls his eyes as if saying _I feel your pain but that money’s sweet_ , and then they go back to talking as if he’s not even there.

Great.

He considers telling them he’ll just go sit and revise, but he knows they wouldn’t care, so he takes off his jacket, drapes it on the back of a chair with his name on it except it’s _Rob_ and not Robb, _whatever_. He wonders if he can get coffee somewhere — he needs at least one more if he wants to survive this entire farce.

“Do you want a piece of advice?” Barbrey asks a moment later, almost making him jump out of his skin — he hadn’t heard her at all.

“Depends,” he says. “What would that be?”

“Drop that accent if you’re not acting,” she says, and then leaves him there, moving out of the room.

Robb _would_ tell her to go fuck herself and that he’s not dropping any accent _unless_ he’s acting, thank you very much, but she’s gone already.

He sits down, grabbing the script again —

“Stark, right?”

What —

He raises his eyes, standing up — someone just stopped in front of his chair.

Then he sees _who_ , and — okay. _Extremely_ handsome guy, dark hair, dark eyes, a face that looks almost _chiseled_ , a bit taller than him and probably a bit older but doesn’t work out as much as Robb does, dressed in a pair of designer jeans, pale blue shirt and leather jacket that make Robb’s clothes look like garbage. Then again, _admittedly_ , he _had_ bought all of them second-hand and he’s entirely aware that dark green cargo pants are hardly a good match with the bright orange sweater he’s wearing because it was the only clean one he had available this morning, but still, he feels underdressed.

For a moment he expects more of people being an ass to him, but then the guy actually gives him a shit-eating grin and holds out a hand.

“Hey,” he says, “Theon Greyjoy, nice to meet you.”

Oh. Right. The guy who’s supposed to play his _love rival_ and eventually win over the fair girl.

“Robb,” he replies, shaking, and fuck at least Theon isn’t trying to get out of it as soon as possible, “how do you do. Wow, thanks for showing up now because I was thinking everyone in here wanted me gone.”

Theon snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, you haven’t heard the talking behind the scenes when it came to casting my _love rival_ ,” he smirks. “Let’s just say you probably don’t want to. Anyway,” his voice drops, “this entire place is filled to the brink with arses, I figured _someone_ should be the halfway decent person.”

He laughs — he _has_ to. “Just halfway? You’re definitely beating the competition here. Like, there’s no contest.”

“I should tell that to a couple relatives,” Theon laughs. “Not that they’d care. Anyway, I doubt anyone in the corner wants to talk to us, so — just for science, how bad is this script?”

“In general or just concerning the amount of bad stereotypes in it?”

“Both, I want a laugh.”

“In _general_ I think it’s abysmal, when it comes to the stereotypes… let’s just say that if my mother read it she’d go up to Mr. Lannister and tell him she hopes he’ll die without a priest.”

Theon _laughs_ , his dark eyes brimming with mirth, and Robb has a very distinct feeling that this entire movie is going to be a _problem_ to shoot, since his type when it comes to guys is dark eyes, a sense of humor and not entirely well-mannered, and Theon is proceeding to _hit every fucking single one of his damned buttons_.

“I like that,” he says, “we aren’t that creative when it comes to insulting people. Anyway, I had figured — actually, why would you even go for it?”

“We all have to eat and that was the only casting call for which they called me twice,” he shrugs. “And the production secretary just told me I should drop the accent, so — well. If I want to get better ones, I’ll need to find money somewhere.”

“She did?” Theon shrugs. “What a prick. Don’t let her deter you, it’s a nice accent. And sure as fuck you’ve been the only person in this entire production who actually doesn’t think they’re better than anyone else just by existing, so you already win points.”

“Flattered,” Robb grins. “And now I’m wondering, how did _you_ get cast as the shy, reserved guy?Because you don’t give me that vibe.”

Theon looks positively delighted at that. “Not all of us were always easygoing,” he says, “but hey, I’m good, what can I say?”

“I don’t doubt that,” Robb replies, and maybe he’d have said more if the door hadn’t burst open and — apparently _everyone_ else in the cast decided to walk in straight at eight AM while both he and Theon were early.

He sighs and introduces himself to everyone else — most of them are polite, some look at him _weird_ , all of them are obviously here for the money. And then —

“Oh, am I late?”

 _Not really_ , she’s almost right on time, Robb thinks as Margaery Tyrell, their lead, comes into the room when everyone else has settled and so everyone has their attention on her. Fair enough, he figures, but given his level of tolerance for this kind of antics in acting school, he has a feeling he’ll have to pull the performance of his life throughout the next month.

It’s not that she’s not pretty because she is — average height, lovely curly chestnut hair, bright large brown eyes, a heart-shaped mouth with pearly white teeth to kill for, and dressed impeccably in a long-sleeved green dress, she _is_ definitely lovely, looking at it.

But the moment she goes to talk to her father first, _then_ to the director and the scriptwriter and spends five minutes discussing things with them before remembering she should maybe introduce herself to the other fifteen people waiting for her, he knows it’s going to be good if he stays civil.

She’s all smiles and apologies with Theon, who’s sitting next to him while Robb is in the last chair, so he’s obviously at the end of the line. Then she moves in front of him.

“Robb Stark, right?” She asks.

“Yeah,” he confirms, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says.

“Likewise,” she says, _not telling her name_. She has a good look at him. “Well, well, can’t say the casting department doesn’t know its job,” she grins. “So, should we begin?”

She sounds thrilled. Robb has a feeling that maybe for _her_ this kinda movie could look good on the CV. But — _the casting department knows its job_?

“She totally wants to do you,” Theon whispers as they sit down.

“Sorry?”

“Come on, she was eyeing you like you were a piece of meat. Get ready for the groping.”

“And you know that _how_?”

“Oh, I’m at my fifth shitty tv movie and I’ve done a few commercials, a soap and an indie movie. I think I can recognize the signs,” he winks, and then opens his own script.

Robb figures he has a point and puts his own away.

“Hey,” Lannister says when he notices, “this is a _read through_.”

“Yeah,” Robb quips back, “and I already learned the part, so I think I can handle this without reading. But thank you, I was aware.”

Some people glance at him like they think he’s bragging, but hey, he’s had two weeks, he _would_ come having done his homework.

“How _professional_ ,” Tyrell says, but it’s obvious it’s for show.

“Come on,” Mormont interrupts, _thankfully._ “Let’s just have the read through and get this show on the road, all right?”

 _Yes, please_ , Robb thinks to himself, and gets ready to wait a lot. He only shows up at the twenty minute mark, after all.

——

The read-through is the usual — Theon is stopped a couple of times (Margaery isn’t), Mormont obviously cares _very_ little for how abysmal the script sounds, it’s raining outside, Robb _really_ needs a fucking coffee or ten of them and it’s a miracle he manages to keep his attention on this entire shitshow to _not_ miss his cue when it’s time for his first line.

“Miss, ’tis a bad idea to be out on yer own at this time of the night,” he says, trying to not sound like he hates every damned word that’s coming out of his mouth.

“Stop one moment,” Tyrell says, and _what the fuck_ , he hadn’t gotten it wrong?

Mormont rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop him. Then again, he’s paying, isn’t he? This is _so_ the kind of movie where the producer is actually the director.

“Did I get it wrong?” Robb asks, fully knowing he hasn’t.

“Oh, no, that was perfect,” Tyrell says, “but I was wondering, could you lay that accent on a bit thicker?”

 _The hell_?

“Uh,” Robb says, “I _guess_ , but like, that’s my usual.” He doesn’t say _and no one talks like that in Dublin, nor anywhere else_.

“Eh, but you know, it’s good but a bit _light_ , you know?”

“All right,” he agrees, even if he just wants to leave and slam the door. He _lays it on a bit thicker_ , feeling like a damned parody of himself, and _then_ everyone seems satisfied.

Well, no, Mormont looks like he’s commiserating but that’s it, Theon looks… annoyed, but that’s about it.

They get through the entire thing by lunch time, good thing that — sometimes he gets stopped, or Theon does, or any of the other actors, but of course Margaery never does.

“Well,” Mormont says when they’re done, _obviously_ lying, “I’ve been to way worse table readings. I think we can move right into the real thing without wasting more time — if you drop by Barbrey’s office on the way out she’ll give you a pass you can show at the studios for the next month. You’ll get the filming schedule in the morning, but just in case, by tomorrow have ready the first ten pages of the script, we’re starting from the beginning.”

“Roger that,” Theon grins, standing up.

Robb _kind of_ wants to go after him and ask if maybe he wants to grab lunch, any excuse to get the fuck out, except that a moment later Margaery actually shows up at his side.

“Hey,” she says, actually _looking at him_ , which she had barely done before.

“Uh, hi yourself,” he says. “Can I help you?”

“No, I just figured you might want an explanation about the accent thing.”

 _I think I already know that, thank you_ , he doesn’t say.

“It’s not a problem,” he says, hoping he sounds convincing enough.

“Well, I figured, but you know, this movie has a _target_ and people are adjusted to have it a bit heavier, and you know, it sounds sexier, if you get what I mean.”

 _My accent is not fucking sexy especially if it’s a parody of itself_ , he doesn’t say. “Got it,” he says, just short of gritting his teeth. “Really. Not a problem. But — well, I’d like to go revise, you know, so we’ll see each other tomorrow?”

“Of course!” She replies brightly, and then leaves him there going back to her father.

 _Okay then_.

He goes at Barbrey’s office, gets the pass while she still looks at him as if she’s nowhere near impressed, learns that he has to be on the premises at seven thirty so he can do make-up and be ready to film at eight, says he understood, and immediately runs down the stairs. Fuck this noise, he can’t wait to be out —

“Let me guess, you got cornered?”

What — oh. That’s Theon. Standing right outside the elevator.

“Maybe I did,” he admits as the doors open and the two of them step inside.

“Yeah, it’s the second shitty movie I do where Tyrell produces. It’s pretty much like this all the time, but we all need the green, I guess. That said, I was about to die in secondhand embarrassment before.”

“Wait, _what_?”

“When they asked you to do the stereotypical accent. I mean, that movie’s bad enough, I hoped _at least_ they wouldn’t go _there_.”

Robb lets out a relieved breath. “Man, you’re about the only person in that entire building who apparently has enough decency to understand _why_ I wanted to throttle the producer.”

“Sadly so,” Theon says, grinning, and shit, he has a _real_ nice smile, doesn’t he? “Just brace yourself because it’s going to be the same for the entire movie.”

He sighs. “I figured. Hey,” he says, figuring that _maybe_ he should just go for it, “I was planning to at least get some coffee and lunch before heading home and revising this clusterfuck. Maybe we could get it together?”

Theon looks at him as if he hadn’t expected the invitation, but then he smiles a bit, less wide but more _real_.

“You know what, I’m game. There’s a good Chinese behind the corner.”

“Great. Show me the way then?”

Theon says that of course he will and Robb has no bloody fucking idea of what he’s doing here because sure as fuck he _never_ dared acting on any of his high school crushes that weren’t on girls back home for _reasons_ (specifically: his parents never had a problem with the fact that he’s occasionally into guys and he loves them dearly for that, too, but his priest _did_ and most of his friends _did_ , and when he went to Cork to study acting he only ever ended up clicking with girls so it’s not as if he’s ever had a chance bar a few hook-ups that lasted exactly one night) and he just hopes he doesn’t fuck things up before they even started shooting this movie, but — Theon does seem _nice_ and honestly, even if Robb’s fairly _bad_ case of feeling attracted to the guy goes nowhere, at least he _might_ use a friend on this fucking movie set before he loses his shit at anyone involved with it. Also, Joffrey, his thrice-darned rich as fuck roommate, is always out for work or at parties with his extremely rich family when he’s not at home complaining about Robb’s food being in the fridge because only poor people reheat their dinner, so it’s not as if he’s had this great social life since he came here, and he misses it. Never mind that he's almost one hundred percent sure that Joffrey only accepted to rent to him because his father arranged it over the phone and he doesn't have an accent and now he's only waiting for Robb's lease to run out and then he'll have to find a better solution.

Anyway: he misses talking to people who haven't decided he's not worth their time on principle, so —

Lunch it is.

Then he’ll see, he supposes.

——

“ — and that’s how I ended up starring in that piece of shit movie with our beloved Mrs. Dustin telling me to _drop my accent_ if I want to succeed in this field,” Robb says before sighing and eating the last half of his spring roll. They’ve been talking while waiting for their orders, and he has no idea how he ended up spilling his entire life’s story to Theon, or at least _the basics_ of it, but apparently he has.

In his defense, Theon’s fairly _easy_ to talk to, all right?

He also looks somewhat sympathetic, which is more than he can say for… most people he’s ran into since he’s been here.

“Well,” he says, “given what they hired you for, sounds kind of hypocritical to me.”

“Thank you,” Robb grumbles, reaching for his plate of chicken. “They did tell me, admittedly, before I left, but — I thought I could make it, you know?”

“Hey, if you’re good something’s gonna turn out. _Some_ indie director in this bloody city might not be an arse.”

“I should hope,” he sighs. “The background doesn’t help, admittedly.”

“What?”

“I got rejected at a few auditions the moment I mentioned growing up on a farm,” he sighs. “Well, _anyone_ I ran into who went to some fancy acting school here didn’t seem to think much of it, either.”

Theon laughs, sounding like he entirely gets what Robb means. “If it consoles, I went to a fancy acting school on a scholarship and people didn’t think much of me, either.”

“Wait, _why_? I mean, I’ve only heard you at the read-through but you’re good.”

Theon laughs, but this time it’s — bitterly, Robb thinks. “Yeah, well, you had the farm, I had my father in jail.”

Then he looks at Robb as if to gauge his reaction, but Robb merely swallows his chicken and shakes his head. “Really? _That_ was the issue?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” It’s obvious that Theon is pushing, but fair enough. Robb thinks he can guess where this is going.

“Judging people because of their family is idiotic. I don’t know what your father was in for but you certainly don’t seem a criminal to me, so — and actually, my parents _did_ pay for my apartment, I got half of my tuition paid off with a scholarship and the rest I managed myself. If you put yourself through it on your own you had it way harder than I did, I won’t go on judging you or anyone else for the reasons why they needed it.”

“And the other half?” Theon jokes, and it’s obvious he’s momentarily deflecting as he reaches for more rice.

“I was working at the local cinema during the week-ends. It paid enough,” Robb says. “Not a bad gig, unless you count cleaning chairs in the back row after people decided they were the best place for a romp.”

“ _Ew_ ,” Theon grimaces, “one would think that if you _really_ have to fuck in a cinema you’d go to the bathroom.”

“ _You’d think_ ,” Robb shrugs. “But really, that was the worst of it. Anyway, I guess we can drink over fancy acting school people being stupid?”

“Cheers,” Theon says, raising up his beer and clinking it against Robb’s. “Anyway, just so it’s clear, I haven’t seen my father since I was nine unless you count a few obligatory visits that I opted out the moment I could, I hate his guts and I thought my mother should have divorced him when I was six, so it’s not like we have anything in common.”

“Listen, just from talking to you five minutes it’s obvious you aren’t cut from the same cloth that ends up in jail for more than possibly spending the night for indecent exposure.”

Theon almost chokes on his beer.

“ _What_ —”

“Pal, you just said that if you had to fuck in a theater you’d go to the bathroom, anyone catching you there _would_ have reasons to press charges for that.”

“… Point taken, I’ve got nothing,” Theon says, but he’s laughing for real now, and Robb can’t help thinking, _he does have a lovely smile_.

“That said, _one night_.”

“Yeah, if anyone bailed me out,” Theon shrugs, but he’s still laughing, a bit. “I doubt my sister would do that.”

“Why, same as your father?”

“Fuck, no. She’s the only one out of us who’s actually came out more or less adjusted,” Theon smirks. “But she’d think that bailing me out wouldn’t teach me any lessons on how to _not_ get caught.”

“Fair enough,” Robb says. “Well, I did have to bail my sister out once.”

“Wait, _what_?”

“She was seventeen and beat to a pulp some guy who was try to mug her and the boyfriend. Nice times, right?”

“… Impressive,” Theon says. “Is it a family trait?”

Robb shakes his head. “Nah. I mean, she actually likes it — _fake-fighting_ people I mean, not doing it for real. Probably the youngest brother is the same breed. Most of us aren’t that bad, though.”

“Wait, _how many_ of you are there exactly?”

He grins. “Five, but if you count my cousin who’s been living with us since forever and is pretty much more of a brother than _that_ , six. Usually this is where people ask how did my parents manage to actually help me through acting school and that’s when I tell them that if you’re good at it, farming can actually make you some money.”

“Do people _seriously_ ask that?”

“Have they just asked me to do the fake heavy Irish accent when mine’s actually, like, _authentic_?”

“Touché,” Theon sighs, “but anyway, I wasn’t gonna ask. I mean, I _can_ be rude but that seemed beyond my paygrade.”

“Thanks,” Robb replies sincerely, drinking a sip of his beer as well. He thinks of all the Guinness he’ll have to fake drink in the next month and almost decides to stop there, but with how much he paid it, he’s going to damn well finish. “Can you believe they haven’t even told me anything about how I should dress and shit?”

“Seriously? They told _me_ ,” Theon says, not sounding too impressed.

“Guess why I’m not surprised,” Robb groans. “Shit, I should’ve just tried doing theater back home but again, there’s more work here.”

“I feel your pain, but if it consoles you I think the four shitty movies in my CV blew all my chances for any Shakespeare I auditioned for.”

“Maybe we should just audition without one. Well, the stuff I did in Ireland was actually not bad at all, definitely more than _this_ , but it’s only helped me out with _this_ fucking part.”

“What, movies?”

“Nah. Some theater, a bunch of commercials and a small movie, but the theater was two Oscar Wildes and one Pinter, I’d like to think it wasn’t _that_ bad.”

Theon whistles. “Not at all. Well, sorry to see your talents are obviously getting wasted here.”

“Hey, I’m glad at least someone in this production isn’t a complete right prick.”

“Cheers, indeed. Or wait, how was it, _sleinte_?”

Robb laughs. “ _Sláinte_ , actually, but I’m impressed.”

“Please, I only know that because I know how to say _cheers_ in some thirty languages. It’s a talent brought by having shared drinks with people from everywhere,” Theon snorts.

“Still more than whoever wrote that script.”

“Wait, what?”

“At some points I’m supposed to speak Irish, too bad all of it is wrong.”

Theon almost chokes on his drink. “Have you told them?”

“Do you think they care or that they would want to hear me out?”

“… Point taken, again,” Theon nods. “But — shit, seriously? I’d have figured they’d have someone check it.”

“You were expecting too much.”

“So, uh, shit, this is gonna sound insensitive —”

“ _Yes_ , I’m bilingual,” Robb spares him. “And coming from someone who thought it was shitty of them they’d get it _wrong_ , I’m not going to get offended at _that_. I already got offended at this script and I have to fucking act in it.”

“Does it console you if I tell you that my first gig was me playing the son of some crook because someone in production looked me up and figured that if my father was locked up for not having paid taxes on his business for about twenty years and a few other not so menial things, then I was the perfect choice?”

“… Not really because it just confirms that this industry is shitty and we’re two masochists for even wanting to work in it.”

“You won’t find me disagreeing,” Theon says, “but hey, could’ve been worse. Imagine if they cast in our place anyone from the prissy kind of acting school who doesn’t get the point of scrubbing come off cinema chairs for the love of the craft.”

“Shit,” Robb grins, “right, you’ve got a point. Well, to surviving the next month.”

“Hell, we’re going to need it,” Theon says, clinking his glass against Robb’s again.

 _Yeah_ , Robb thinks, _we’re going to need a lot of alcohol to get through it_.

 _A lot of it_.

But he’s really, really glad they ran into each other. If anything, if he makes a friend out of this damned mess, it’s not going to be completely wasted time if not for that sweet, sweet paycheck.

——

Turns out, the moment he gets into make-up, other than having to put on the fucking green contact lenses which he _hopes_ won’t end up causing him allergic reactions or anything of the kind, he has to dress… exactly like Brando in the movie they’re ripping off, and honestly, the moment he comes out of the trailer with a dirty white tank top, ripped jeans and _new_ boots that absolutely clash with the rest of the attire, he feels like a piece of meat.

He sighs, leaves the script along with his regular clothes — he won’t need it for the few scenes they have today — and heads for the proper set.

Of course, they’re shooting some interns in the morning while Margaery and Theon go out in the afternoon for external shoots, so technically he only has to work until lunch break, and of course the supposed hallway of Margaery’s Dublin apartment does _not_ look like any hallway he’s ever seen in the city — it definitely looks similar to the one in his own building, though.

Except that the walls are light green.

He sighs. This is going to be a long fucking month.

Anyway. He has to knock on her door, introduce himself, make her feel _queasy_ or whatever the hell was the point, back off when Theon shows up, and then he has to _roughly_ come on to her after work and kiss the living daylights out of her while she’s _reluctant_ but not sure about it.

In _theory_ it shouldn’t take more than a hour for those two scenes and then maybe they’ll let him go for the day. Hopefully.

“Hey,” Theon says, moving next to him — he’s impeccably dressed, with an immaculate navy blue suit and tie and azure shirt. “Wow, they really aren’t even trying to hide the source, are they?”

“Please,” Robb shakes his head.

“Wait, did they _really_ give you contacts? Shit, you look weird.”

“You mean, it’s obvious they’re contacts?”

“No, but if anyone’s seen you without it’s… weird.”

“Hey, we need to get into position, not to chitchat!”

Robb has already decided that he has a healthy dislike for the AD — Taena Merryweather keeps on staring at them as if she hates the sight of them both and especially has done that with him the moment he showed up and… _they_ cast him, fuck’s sake, and Margaery’s not here, so what does she even want?

“I’m ready when you want,” he says, “but if Margaery’s not here —”

“She’s almost here,” Taena says, interrupting him. “Get ready.”

“Fine, boss, fine,” Theon says, raising his hands and moving beyond the camera — then again he has to show up from behind him, so he _should_. He goes leaning against the fake wall for a while until Margaery finally shows up five minutes later, fifteen after she should have.

“Sorry, sorry, make-up took time. So, shall we?”

Given that her look is supposed to be _minimal_ —

Robb doesn’t even ask.

“Ready when you are,” he says, and waits until they set the cameras on her side of the door. He waits for her to pretend she’s calling her best friend in London, tunes out the conversation and thankfully that’s done in one take.

“Stark,” Mormont says, “your cue in a moment. Three, two, one, action!”

Right. He has to show up at her door, knock, flirt _heavily_ and make her feel _scared_ but also _excited_. How original.

He walks his way like he owns that shitty hallway, then he knocks on the door, thrice, surely. Then she opens it and makes a halfway scared and halfway turned-on face that… is absolutely unrealistic, but never mind.

“Hiya,” he drawls, laying that accent on thick as they said. “Y’er new ‘round here, aren’t you?”

“Stop!” Taena calls.

“Taena,” Mormont hisses, “that was _fine_ , and we’re barely even started.”

“Well, the notes I got this morning said he should be ruder than that.”

Robb almost groans. “ _Ruder_?”

“Sure. That sounded _nice_. You aren’t here to play nice.”

 _Fuck that_ , Robb thinks, and when they do it again he forces himself to sound like those assholes who spent high school calling him names when he said he wanted to act.

 _That_ ’s apparently good enough, and they get through the entire thing in one blessed take, and Theon only has two lines to exchange with him but he sounds like he actually _means_ what he says, which to Robb makes him automatically a better actor than everyone in this movie put together.

Then they move to the first _love scene_.

——

They start at ten AM.

It’s _two PM_ when they finally call it done, and _twenty_ takes later, Robb is about done already. First he wasn’t handling her roughly enough, then _too_ roughly and she felt _really_ hurt somehow, then it turns out that Margaery is fine with locking lips but not using tongue and _they should be using tongue_ , and then she grasps at his shoulders with long, manicured fingers, which turns into a couple of nails breaking right as they dug into his shoulders _hurting like a motherfucker_ , which turns into someone from make-up coming on set and re-doing it for her losing half an hour. By the time they filmed their one-minute worth of footage with the two of them making out and a modest romp against the wall, it’s been too many takes for Robb’s tastes and at some point Taena stopped him to remind him to _lay on that accent_ even as he _swore under his breath_ pretending she was turning him on.

Yeah, another month like _this_ will be… he doesn’t know what exactly but _damaging to his nerves_? Most likely.

“Good grief,” Theon tells him as they head off the set for lunch break, “Taena is the _worst_.”

“I hope she wasn’t a pain in the ass to you, too.”

“You wish, she lectured me half an hour on the correct way to play demure as if I don’t know that. But hey, you good?”

“Wait, why? Sure.”

“Your eyes are tearing up.”

“… Shit, the contacts,” Robb groans. “I should take them off, I’m done for today apparently. _Fuck_ , I knew they picked the shitty brand.”

“As if, they look like they enjoy saving on budget. You need any help getting them off?”

His first instinct it saying no, but no one from the make-up department has told him to go back there and honestly, he never _needed_ them for actual reasons, so it’s not like he’s ever had any reason to learn how to take them off.

“You know what, maybe I do,” he sighs. “There’s a bathroom just outside here.”

“Right, let’s just get it over with.”

Robb follows him to the bathroom in question, feeling his eyes fucking _burning_ by now. Yeah. Bad kind of contacts, definitely. By the time they’re inside, he’s tearing up so hard he can barely see shit.

“Okay,” Theon says, “just — lean back under the light, I’ll try to be quick.”

“Sure. Yeah. Thanks,” Robb says, throwing his head backward and trying to keep his eyes open, Theon’s hands going to his face to keep it still, and _shit_ , now that’s exactly what he needed, knowing he’s _attracted to the guy_ , isn’t it?

He forces himself to not close his eyes on reflex the moment the tip of Theon’s finger touches the contact on his right eye, and he breathes in relief when it’s off.

“Fuck,” he says, “that _hurt_.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” Theon laughs, and moves on to the other contact, and then Robb closes his eyes at once, blinking a few times to re-adjust, and when he finally opens them again for good they’re still burning but at least he can see Theon’s face very clearly and fuck, he’s _this_ close, they could kiss if he moved just a couple inches, and why does Theon have his hands on Robb’s face still?

“Shit,” he says, grabbing a tissue from the dispenser nearby and moving it under Robb’s eye — hell, it must be wet as hell given how much he teared up, “you need to go to make up and tell them to change the brand if they really have to.”

“How bad it is?”

He snorts. “Red all over. If I were you I’d run by the drugstore and get something for it because you look like you’ve cried for one full day.”

“Well, fuck,” Robb groans. “Thanks for helping with that. I don’t know if I’d have even seen where I was going to put my hands.”

“No problem. And they’re idiots, I mean, why the hell would you even put contacts when your eyes are — ah, _shit_.”

A moment later Theon’s hands are gone, but while Robb might be incapacitated here, he’s not fucking _stupid_. He grabs Theon’s arm before he can run off. “What were you going to say?”

“Robb, really, I shouldn’t —”

“ _Say it_ ,” he says, and he doesn’t know if it’s the tone or anything else, but then Theon sighs and —

“I was saying they look great just the color they are, but —”

“Did you just say _my eyes are pretty_?”

“… What if I did?” He replies, almost defensively, but _not moving_.

There are a lot of things Robb could have said to that.

But he also can see that there’s a storage room with a half-open door right on his left and no one’s come here yet because this is a small bathroom in a corridor farther from the studios than the largest one, so almost no one uses it.

Well, _fuck that_.

“Then I was just fucking waiting for it,” he says, and then he moves a hand behind Theon’s neck and Theon immediately goes down and their lips crash together and —

Theon _moans_ into his mouth the moment their tongues meet and _shit_ , they’re kissing so frantically you’d think they both haven’t gotten laid in years (okay, Robb hasn’t since he came here, but _not the point_ ) and then he’s with Theon’s back against the wall and his hands on Theon’s arms pinning him to it and Theon’s apparently _very_ down with that program.

“Shit,” Robb says, “please tell me you’ve been thinking about this since we went to lunch.”

Theon laughs, shaking his head. “Stark, I’ve been wanting you to jump me since I fucking introduced myself. The contacts thing wasn’t, uh, selfless.”

Robb has to grin back, and —

Shit, Theon has to _film_ later, but —

“Hey,” he says, “that storage room’s half empty. You’ve got —” He glances at the clock on the wall. “Another half hour before you’ve got to be back for filming. You down for that?”

“Hm,” Theon says, a glint in his eyes, “if you don’t ruin my clothes? I’m _entirely_ fine with skipping lunch.”

Robb smiles. “Oh, I think that’s _absolutely_ doable,” he says, entirely aware that he’s grinning hard enough to hurt.

——

“ _Fuck_ ,” Theon groans not five minutes later, “ _fuck_ , you’re _good_.”

Robb _would_ like to thank him, but given that he’s getting his costume dirty as he kneels on the ground of the damned storage room and has Theon’s dick in his mouth, he can’t — _right now_. He settles on grasping at Theon’s hip tighter to remind him that he should _not_ make too much noise, and then takes him in a bit deeper — he hasn’t deep-throated in months but he still has it, from the way Theon’s writhing above him, and the way he got harder and _harder_ inside Robb’s mouth honestly has been the fucking hottest thing that’s happened to him in at least a couple years if not more, and the moment Theon’s hands tentatively grasp at his hair Robb has _no_ issues whatsoever letting him. He runs his tongue along the head once, twice, then sucks _harder_ , and he just knows Theon won’t last too long, but that’s fine enough — he hopes they’ll have time to do this with less of a rush.

For now —

For now he really fucking needs Theon to come already because he’s been wanting him to since what seems like forever and he’s thought of a lot of other things he’d like to do with him, possibly on a bed, possibly _for longer than this_ , and so he leans back just a bit and sucks _harder_ , and a moment later Theon tells him he’s close and Robb nods and _right_ , he leans back enough that he can swallow without choking and _fuck_ but Theon’s coming hard, not that he minds — he swallows, everything, and doesn’t pull back until Theon’s obviously done; at that point he moves away, wiping at his mouth, painfully aware he’ll have to thoroughly wash his face before he goes to make-up, but honest? Entirely worth it. Especially since Theon’s looking downright delectable, with his cheeks reddened and his lips kiss-swollen and his hair in disarray, but other than that —

“See? No stains on the clothes,” Robb grins.

“Fuck,” Theon breathes, “that was — do I even want to know how good you are if you can make it last more than ten minutes?”

“Do you?” Robb winks. “Because I’m entirely amenable.”

“Shit,” Theon says, “if I don’t leave now I’ll be late, but — you sure you don’t —”

“You can make it up to me next time,” Robb answers. “I’ve got a hand. And I _did_ get lunch, differently from you.”

Theon _snorts_ , hard, and shakes his head as he buttons up his trousers. “Mate, no one would imagine you can say _that_ kinda shit with that angelic face of yours. Even if your eyes are still redder than an overdrawn bank account.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. So, see you tomorrow? Maybe we can make better arrangements.”

Oh, now _that_ sounds like a plan.

“I’m _absolutely_ down with it. See you tomorrow, then,” he grins, and then he’s out of the storage room.

Well then. Robb is _absolutely_ looking forward to tomorrow, too. He locks the door again, just in case, then opens up his jeans and sticks a hand inside his underwear — no way he’s going to complain about those contacts with the most raging hard-on he’s sported in fucking months.

It’s probably embarrassing that it takes him barely a minute to come as he pictures pinning Theon to his bed and the two of them going down at it hard enough to make it creak, but hey, no one’s ever going to know.

He’ll make sure it’s nowhere near as rushed, next time.

——

“ _Seriously_?”

Robb has a feeling the damned sunglasses look _terrible_ on him. Especially given his Brando get-up. “Yeah, find it funny however much you want, _you_ didn’t have to argue with Barbrey Dustin yesterday.”

Theon narrows his eyes. “You _argued_?”

“I told her that there was no way I could wear those contacts one month if I didn’t want to get permanent eye damage, and she tried to convince me to try it again, then I made sure she had a close look at my face and she had to relent on getting _better_ lenses. Except that the schedule is tight and I can’t afford missing one day so I bought three different eye drops and I’m wearing these until I have to shoot _with the fucking good contacts_ , but the pharmacist forbid me to even try to _not_ wear sunglasses while I’m healing, so.”

“Geez,” Theon says, “now that’s what I call giving a shit about your employees.”

“I’ll live,” Robb sighs. “At least be glad that you don’t have to shoot the entire afternoon of _pub scenes_ where you behave like some kinda caveman.”

“Wait, you’re doing that with Taena?”

“Yeah,” Robb sighs, “Mormont left her in charge of the second unit. So I doubt we’re seeing each other after I leave, unless you want a drink and dinner at my place this evening.”

“ _Nice_ ,” Theon grins. “Are we inviting each other over now? People say that’d be rushing it.”

“Maybe, but my roommate is out for a work thing for the next three days and he won’t pester me about my heinous cooking, so I could make you some actually decent food.”

“Wait, you’d cook for him and he says no?”

“He’s an ass and he thinks the food I cook is sub-par.”

“What if I want to try that out?”

Robb _really_ likes how this is proceeding.

“Then,” he says, slipping a piece of paper into Theon’s hand that he had ready since this morning, “that’s the address. Show up at nine PM so I actually have time to prepare things and then tomorrow morning we can come here together, how about it?”

“It’s a date, Robb,” Theon grins, and then heads for his side of the set the moment he’s called.

Robb shrugs and waits for Taena to finish gathering whatever she needs. The pub is thankfully just on the other side of the road and they rented it for the day, but he’s so _not_ looking forward to spending the next… eight hours with her. Ouch.

At least he hopes they had the decency of changing whatever football flags they have hanging in the place, because not even the most ignorant person in the audience would think that a pub in Dublin would sport _Arsenal_ flags like the one they’re shooting at usually does.

He has a feeling he won’t have any such luck.

——

“Let me tell you, you can certainly work with the romantic atmosphere,” Theon says the moment he walk inside Robb’s apartment while Robb is honestly feeling embarrassed, but —

“Hey, it was either this or wearing sunglasses throughout the entire thing and first, we’re not in one of those American shows where everyone always wears sunglasses, _and_ I thought you liked my eyes, didn’t you?”

“Touché,” Theon admits as he follows Robb into the living room — where he has set the table and everything, and has turned off all the lights in favor of candles not because he was aiming for the _romantic_ evening but because he’s not supposed to be without the damned sunglasses unless the light is reasonably low and so on. “Also, is all the gold stuff your roommate’s?”

“Yeah,” Robb shrugs, “I haven’t even tried to get anything in here, it’s not worth it. But, he’s away, so for once I don’t have to worry about it. Just — take a seat, I’ll get the food in a moment.”

He goes to the kitchen with one of the candles just to make sure he doesn’t break anything, and then brings out the roasted salmon that he spent the last two hours preparing — and okay, admittedly, he _did_ splurge money on buying it fresh (fuck London’s prices for fish that he could have had for less back home) but he wants to impress and he didn’t have enough time to put together something more elaborated. Good thing he had already brought the mashed potatoes and soda bread on the table.

“So,” he says, “not my _best_ effort, if I had the entire afternoon it’d have been different, but —”

“Are you fucking kidding? That looks delicious,” Theon says. “And wait, that’s — you didn’t buy that bread in the supermarket, did you?”

“Of _course_ no,” Robb replies, sitting down, “I made it. Takes half an hour tops. Listen, my mother would’ve disowned me if I couldn’t even make _that_ when I left home.”

Theon breaks a piece and tries it, and Robb is really sad there’s no way to take a picture. He’d have _loved_ to send it back home.

“Shit, Stark, that’s delicious. But that’s not, like, normal, right?”

“Nah. It’s soda bread, or _arán sóide_ , however you like. And I’m having the time of my life right now because according to all my siblings, _my_ attempts at arán sóide are sub-par.”

“ _This_ is sub-par?” Theon says, sounding completely surprised of that.

“… I guess in comparison to anyone else’s in the house but hey, I get by.”

“Tell your relatives they have no taste. And tell your roommate that if he complains about your cooking he’s a complete idiot,” he says, helping himself to the salmon. “ _Fuck_ , this smells good.”

“Oh, I will,” Robb says, “and I’ll enjoy every moment of it. Please, go ahead, I need to gloat in knowing someone appreciates my cooking. The roommate complains every fucking time I have to use the kitchen when he’s in.”

“The roommate deserves choking on fish and chips,” Theon says as he tries the salmon, and — _okay_ , Robb had been half-sure he overdid it with the honey, but apparently he _hasn’t_ because Theon looks like he hasn’t eaten this nicely in a long time so he figures it went fine. He helps himself to his own portion and _right_ , definitely not his mother’s but more than acceptable.

“So, did they change the flags in the pub?”

“No,” Robb sighs, “and when I pointed it out they took them down, so this movie will have the only pub without sports flags in the entire country, _I guess_. Whatever. How did _your_ filming go?”

“Oh, we lost one hour because Margaery’s make-up wasn’t _perfect_ , then it was what, eight hours of painful flirting and wondering _how_ is someone as completely inept as the ass I’m playing even functioning in real life, and I’m pretty sure someone in make-up copped a feel, but who even knows who.”

“Ew,” Robb grimaces. “If it consoles you, the least stereotypical thing I did in the pub scenes was pretending to sing _Whiskey in the Jar_ while halfway drunk.”

“ _Least_ stereotypical?”

“Indeed. My ancestors are probably cursing me from the afterlife right now.”

“Wouldn’t your ancestors understand doing everything to keep a roof over your head?”

“Possibly, but if I were them I’d curse myself.”

Theon laughs, then eats another piece of salmon and Robb can’t help notice that he’s almost done. “You want seconds, help yourself.”

“If you ask _this nicely_ ,” Theon grins, and does just that, and Robb’s just happy this is going over well. “So, how long do you have to keep those sunglasses hiding your incredibly pretty eyes from us?”

“Five days if nothing goes wrong,” Robb says. “And we’re not filming _this_ week-end, so I should be good.”

“I’m sure they’re only forcing you to wear contacts because if people saw the right shade they’d forget about the leading lady,” Theon winks, and Robb almost chokes on his salmon.

“Well, good to hear someone likes my eyes _this_ much,” he flirts back, “if you want to have a closer look after we’re done with the salmon…”

“Oh, I _definitely_ like the plan.” Theon smiles around the fork, pulling it out of his mouth slowly, _very slowly_ , and at that point Robb really wants to nail him to the fucking bed, but —

All in due time. He looks back up at him, grabs a large forkful of mashed potato and does the exact same thing, noticing how Theon seems to half-choke on his water as he does it.

“You’re not making this easier,” Theon says, after swallowing it.

“I wasn’t trying to make it easier,” Robb quips back, knowing _exactly_ what he’s doing, and when Theon immediately stuffs the remaining of his potatoes in his mouth he knows he’s managed.

“Hey,” he says, “I _might_ be wanting you to jump me, but I don’t want to waste your food. Catering _sucked._ ”

“I don’t doubt that,” Robb says, and proceeds on getting the last of the bread.

At that point Theon doesn’t try to talk some more, and Robb realizes why so he eats the rest of his food, and they finish around the same time — Theon stuffs the last piece of soda bread in his mouth just as Robb grabs the dirty salmon dish and leaves it in the kitchen sink, then gives it a wash so that it doesn’t stink tomorrow, then he gets out of the kitchen to find Theon standing next to the door, his silk burgundy shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his dark eyes glinting in the candlelight.

“So,” he says, “is this where I thank you for the nice dinner?”

“I thought,” Robb replies, “that this is where I showed you my room.”

“ _Please_ ,” Theon says, and Robb motions for him to follow — it’s a small as fuck apartment _and_ his door right near the living room, of course it’s the one attached to the kitchen, which means that Joffrey _always_ wakes him up when he comes in late at night and _fries_ his fucking unhealthy dinner. He opens the door, lets Theon in and locks it behind him.

“Ouch,” he says, “they really gave you the shitty room, didn’t they?”

Sure they did — it’s small, cramped, barely has space for a bed, the wardrobe and a few bookshelves, while Joffrey’s thrice the size, and his bed is way more pricey than it has any right to. Robb just glanced at it once and it was a mess of gold all over.

“Yeah,” Robb says, “but I’ll make do. Now, do you really want the tour _now_?”

“Hell, no,” Theon says, and a moment later Robb’s just _done_ with waiting and Theon’s moaning into his mouth as Robb presses him up against the door, hands on Theon’s wrists, and Theon’s kissing back _very_ enthusiastically, his hips pressing against Robb’s, and fuck, _fuck_ , good thing he didn’t wear jeans or he’d feel _really_ constricted right now.

Then _does_ have jeans on, though, and Robb can feel his dick pressing against his thigh, _hard_ , and — yeah. _Yeah_ , okay, if they don’t slow down a bit this is going to end up embarrassingly fast.

“Maybe we should — the bed,” he says.

“Yeah,” Theon agrees, breathless, “maybe, even if —”

“Even if _what_?”

“Even if I _kinda_ thought about, like, doing it against the wall —”

“Oh, _to hell with it_ ,” Robb groans, and a moment later he’s gotten rid of his shirt and proceeds to open all of the buttons on Theon’s before sliding it off his shoulders and undoing his belt next.

Then he notices that Theon —

“Did you _go without underwear_?”

“Thought putting it on was a waste of time,” Theon grins, and that’s it, the moment his jeans are off along with his shoes, Robb’s moved his hands under Theon’s thighs just as Theon’s arms lock around his shoulders, his cock lining up with Robb’s through the trousers’ cloth, and Theon about moans hard enough that the neighbors most likely heard and Robb can’t give a single fuck.

“ _This_ was what you meant?” Robb asks, tearing his mouth from Theon’s.

“Shit, _yes_ ,” Theon says. “Hey, that tank top does nothing to hide your arms, just stating the truth.”

“How about,” Robb says, “I take you to the bed now and _then_ I fuck you against the wall?”

“I say what are you waiting for?” Theon breathes, and yeah, _all right_ , doable.

Robb moves away from the wall, carrying him to the bed for those three steps it takes to get there anyway, letting him fall on it gently rather than just dumping him, shrugs off his trousers and underwear, then leans over and opens the first drawer of his nightstand, fishing for the condoms and lube he left in there — the condoms shouldn’t be expired, and the lube, well, _sometimes_ a guy has to make do with something other than his hand, all right?

“Look at that, you were ready?”

“Maybe, and do you want to earn that fuck against the wall or not? You still owe me from before.”

“ _Okay,_ okay, fair enough, I’m _absolutely_ game,” he grins, and in the faint candlelight of the two he had lightened on the bookshelf that hair of his looks like dark silk, and Robb has to lean down to kiss him again, sucking on his lower lip, pinning his wrists to the bed again, groaning as Theon’s ankles lock around his own. He moves down Theon’s neck, sucking at the skin just over his collarbone, not leaving hickeys because he’d have to explain it even if he wishes he _could_. Then he realizes that if he moves done he will have to move his hands, but Theon seems to be into him restraining them.

Well, maybe —

“Hey,” he says, “how about you grab that headboard? I need the hands.”

“Oh, _nice_ ,” Theon winks, and then he does, and — okay, _okay_ , now that he has his hands free he can run them along his sides and his chest as he kisses his way downward, taking his time to leave a hickey on Theon’s hip that _hopefully_ no one in make-up will notice.

“Fuck,” Theon says, “ _fuck_ , now you wanna go slow?”

“We’re in a bed, not in the damned storage room,” Robb laughs. “Patience, I’m not that cruel.”

“You’d better _not_ —” Theon starts, and then stops because Robb’s just licked his way down his dick, slow, sucking at the tip just a moment, before moving back down and spreading his legs — Theon groans in displeasure but it changes the moment Robb coats a finger in lube and pushes it in, slow, then slides it out, and when he’s sure it’s loose enough for a second, he coats a second finger, moves back up, puts a hand behind Theon’s neck kissing him just as he slides _two_ fingers inside him without too many ceremonies and at _that_ Theon about presses up to him _harder_ , pushing down against him, Robb’s hands grasping at his hair.

Then Robb shoves his fingers in _deeper_ and he swallows down what’d have been a scream, if they hadn’t been kissing. “Fuck,” Theon breathes when they part, “ _fuck_ , go for it, just go for it, I —”

“Not so fast,” Robb grins, leaning back and tearing the condom’s plastic before putting it on — better that he does it now before he’s too hard, and he’s painfully close to it —; he takes a moment to lube himself up as well, then he moves back down and shoves his fingers inside him again, and Theon _clenches_ against them, fuck’s sake —

“Oh, well, you can _earn_ things next time,” Robb says, and then he grabs Theon under his thighs again and Theon immediately guesses where he was headed because he latches at him as Robb lifts him up and slams his back against the wall again, lining up to his ass. “Ready?” He asks.

“Robb, I’ve been fucking ready for _days_ if —”

Robb grins and pushes in at once, and he slides in smooth enough — Theon’s _tight_ but they’re both fairly slick and a little friction never hurt anyone, and Theon’s legs are crossed behind his back _tight_ as he leans back and fucks into him slowly.

“Oh,” Theon says, _“_ oh, _damn_ , that — that feels — you can go faster if —”

“Just you wait,” Robb says, taking a bit more time, sliding back slow and pushing back in the same way until he decides he can risk picking it up without it hurting too much and starts going faster, and _faster_ , Theon’s hips snapping downwards to meet his thrusts, Theon’s dick trapped in between them and finding friction on Robb’s stomach, and he can barely see shit thanks to the damned candles but it doesn’t matter because Theon feels _perfect_ around him, warm and tight and meeting his thrusts like he can’t wait for it, and then he picks up the pace as he kisses Theon again.

“Fuck,” he chokes, “too bad your shirt doesn’t cover your neck _that much_.”

“ _Robb_ ,” Theon moans, immediately guessing where this is going, “right, _right_ — the day — that fucking movie’s done shooting, you’re free to leave the hickey of your dreams wherever you want.”

And — okay, Robb’s brain is fully into short circuit at this point and honestly, he’s pretty much bilingual but English was _not_ his first language, and so he _means_ to say thank you, but then when he opens his mouth, that’s not what comes out of it.

“Oh, go raibh maith agat,” he blurts, and it might be dark but he can pinpoint the moment Theon’s eyes go _wider_ and his cheeks go darker and he presses up harder against him just as Robb is thrusting in _deep_ and Theon’s coming against him while he latches at him and he immediately comes just after while Theon’s frame shakes against his and his hands are most likely leaving bruises on Robb’s shoulders, but he doesn’t mind whatsoever, not when he hasn’t come this hard in a damned long time and he has no idea of what just happened as he reaches down and starts jerking Theon off as he comes, which makes him twitch against Robb all over again, and he doesn’t stop until they’re both spent and lying down on the bed with their backs on the wet, sticky sheets.

“What — what did you tell me before?” Theon asks after catching his breath, not quite looking at him.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Robb laughs. “Hm, let me guess, you didn’t mind that?”

“… What if I thought it was hot?” Theon replies, suddenly sounding way less sure of himself than he has until now. “I mean, hell, given what that movie’s about I don’t even know if I should have said it, but —”

“Hey,” Robb says, shaking his head, “ _those_ people are putting it there because it’s supposed to be hot in the sense of, it is but _you shouldn’t want it_ and it’s not even right, you’re into it because you’re into it. No one’s offended here.”

“Fuck, well, it’s hot because _you_ are — ah, _damn_ , mate, you’re really fucking good at this.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

“Because I’m usual nowhere near _that_ chatty after — well, _after_. But you’re apparently bringing it out.”

Robb tries to not laugh _really_ hard. “Don’t worry, I think you’re hot as well,” he says, moving an arm around Theon’s waist.

“Hm, do you?”

“B'fhéidir é,” Robb grins, and when Theon’s cheeks flush again, it becomes even wider.

“And that meant?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Robb replies. “So, you spending the night?”

“ _Totally_ ,” Theon says. “We can take a shower in the morning or do I have to now?”

“Nah,” Robb answers, deciding he’s too tired. “No one’s around. We can do it in the morning.”

They fall asleep with Robb’s arm around Theon’s waist, Theon’s head on his shoulder as he presses up against him with a pleased sigh, and Robb decides he _really_ likes that they already decided on the celebratory fuck for when that bloody movie’s done and over.

Oh, he _really_ , really likes that.

——

A week later, he’s _really_ looking forward to the celebratory fuck and he thinks that Theon is as well, but not half as much as he is.

And Theon is _very much_ looking forward to it, Robb _knows_ that — from what they could tell each other yesterday when they managed to find ten minutes for a quickie after four days of relentless shooting, he can’t wait to be done already.

“We need another one,” Mormont says, sighing.

 _Again_? Robb thinks. It’s the fucking _twentieth_ take of this damned scene. And it’s not even that hard of a scene — he has to kiss Margaery while holding her up against the door and it has to be steamy enough to get people hot and bothered but not enough to risk being censored, and he’s been holding her up pretty much non-stop for the last two hours while she grabs at his ass and they have to pretend they’re using tongue to kiss when she said she _doesn’t_ use tongue, period.

Which is already hard enough to do when after ten days of filming this shitshow he hates pretty much everyone involved in it except for Theon, the director and —

“Seriously,” Bronn, the director of photography says, “ _again_? What was wrong with this one?”

Right, Robb _doesn’t_ hate Bronn because he’s about the only person in here who actually has the guts to complain about this mess of a movie. And he also forbid them to use his surname, at least he’s _somewhat_ not an arse.

“Too much breast showing,” Mormont sighs. “Sorry, wouldn’t pass. And we can’t cut it off.”

 _Fuck’s sake_ , Robb wants to say, _if only she had worn a damned t-shirt and jacket instead of a sleeveless dress that no one would wear in Dublin in November, it wouldn’t show in the first place._

“Maybe if _he_ stopped moving cloth away from her chest —” Taena Merryweather starts, staring right at him, and _fuck that_ , he has —

“Taena, can it,” Bronn says, “he has his hands _under her thighs_ , he’s not moving shit away from her chest, it’s that dress which shows off everything the moment it gets slightly crumpled. Just get someone from costumes put a few pins in there so that it doesn’t and let’s get this over with, can we? We’re behind, it’s been one entire fucking morning on _this_ scene and we’ve got a bloody schedule.”

“Hey,” Taena says, “I am in charge of the schedule!”

“Bite me, you’re doing a shitty job of following it and since no one else will tell you, _I_ will. Now, can you get someone to pin that dress already or do I have to do it myself?”

Taena _does_ , thank fuck, and a moment later some girl from the costume department is pinning her dress so that it stays _above_ her breasts, and then they do the scene again. Robb’s arms are on the brink of giving it up because holding her up for two hours has about exhausted him, but they manage to get through it, _and_ through the following romp on the bed that she will absolutely regret in the morning, which is also another mess because he can only touch thighs, arms and hips but she can apparently touch _everywhere_.

By the time they’re done for the day, it’s six in the afternoon, he’s _tired_ , Taena is looking at him as if she wants him to drop dead right _that_ moment and he just wants to tell her to go fuck herself, and they still have another three weeks to go. He wants to fucking die inside, and of course Theon was shooting his own stuff today in the other studio so they can’t even have a drink post-filming.

They also haven’t seen each other since the quickie and Robb’s tolerance for this entire shitshow is at his lowest, _again_.

And it’s probably pathetic that it’s been one day and he’s sure that his mood would lift if he and Theon could actually _see_ each other, but no can do. He changes, thankful that the new lenses aren’t killing his eyes anymore, and goes back home, where _of course_ Joffrey starts complaining about having found soda bread leftovers on the kitchen table.

“You could eat it, you know,” Robb says.

“Yeah, _no_ , you can forget it,” Joffrey replies, sounding fairly disgusted at the prospect. “Uh, and someone called you.”

“… Someone? Who?”

“Who knows, I left you the number,” Joffrey replies, and then proceeds to slam the door to his room.

The number, on the kitchen table, is written in such a chicken scratch that Robb has to guess on whether a few times it’s a one or a seven. Well, certainly it’s not his parents, it’s a London number, but other than that…

He sighs and goes to his room — his first two attempts end up with the operator informing him the number doesn’t exist, the third is a Chinese restaurant and the fourth a tobacco shop.

He tries the fifth combination — hopefully he got ones and sevens straightened out. It rings thrice, and then —

“Hello?”

“ _Theon_? Shit, Joffrey could have told me that it was you.”

“I told him the name.”

“Yeah, he only took the number and wrote it so clearly it took me four tries. By the way, how did you get mine?”

“From your CV in Barbrey’s office.”

“… Fair,” Robb smiles. “What can I do for you?”

“Listen, I spent _one entire day_ with that creep Corbray who’s supposed to play my _controlling and overbearing father_ and tomorrow I have _another one_ with the rest of the _controlling and overbearing family_. Please tell me you can come in earlier since we’re not filming together for five days and honest, I need to talk to someone I like.”

Robb grins. “Wait, just _talk_?”

“… Point taken. So, can you?”

“I can be there at seven thirty,” Robb says.

“Fuck, _yes_ , you’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t worry,” Robb says, “I could say the same.”

And if he has to wake up at an ungodly hour in the morning to be there at seven thirty… _who cares_ , Robb decides as he closes the call.

——

“Are you _really_ sure?” Robb breathes as he locks the door.

“Totally,” Theon says, his hands grasping at Robb’s hips, dragging him closer inside an old storage room that most likely hasn’t been used in weeks. “I’ve been shooting here three days, no one’s ever even opened the damned door and it’s almost empty.”

Fair enough — it is.

Robb kisses him again, pressing him up against a lone desk stacked against the wall. “So,” he says, turning him oven putting an arm around his waist, tugging, “we don’t have much time, but the weekend’s coming up.”

“Yeah,” Theon groans as Robb undoes his jeans, his hands falling on the desk for leverage, “except we’re filming all through it, forgot?”

“Not on Sunday evening,” Robb smiles. “And I was thinking —” He slides a hand inside Theon’s underwear, grasping at his cock, stroking it lightly once, twice, “— we could make up for lost time? Joffrey’s at his grandfather for some _grand Lannister birthday party_.”

“Is he,” Theon chokes, breathing hard, “and what did you have in mind?”

“What if I told you I might’ve acquired some rope from the props department?”

Theon moans as Robb starts jerking him off harder. “ _Did you_ ,” he says, his voice going hoarser. “Because that — sounds — _interesting_.”

“Hm,” Robb nods. “I did. I gather I had a good idea?”

“What do you _think_ ,” Theon groans, sweat lightly touching his cheeks, pressing his head against Robb’s shoulder as Robb jerks him off harder.

“I figured,” Robb moans into his ear. “Then we should go for it?”

“What were you thinking?” Theon says, even if he sounds almost breathless.

“I’d tie you to the bed, of course,” Robb says. “Hands only. I’d take it slow.” Theon’s _hard_ at this point, and he slows down just to time it properly, not that he has an idea of what he’s doing here but he’s sleep-deprived and feeling Theon press up against him while almost writhing is sending his brain into short-circuit. “I’d suck you off, probably. I’d make you come, I think.”

“You _think_?” Theon breathes. “Why’s that?”

“Dunno,” Robb smirks, “I think I’d like to see how many times — I could get you to come while being tied up to _my_ bed. Why draw it out?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Theon groans, “Robb, I’m —”

“And _maybe_ ,” Robb goes on, “if you were _good_ about it, I could say _something_ in _Gaelige_ to you, how about it?”

At _that_ , Theon groans loud enough that Robb _really_ hopes that no one was passing by as he comes against his hand, and all right, Robb _might_ have done that just because he knew it might happen, but honest? It’s turning him on that _Theon_ is turned on even if it’s not like he ever thought his own language sounded particularly hot or whatever, but he figures it’s the same for about everyone when it comes to _their_ language.

“Shit,” Theon groans, wiping sweat from his face, “you really do know how to sweet talk a guy, huh?”

Given that Robb’s hand is still inside his underwear, Robb figures it’s not too much _talking_ , but never mind that. He’s done by now, and Robb slides his hand away except that Theon intercepts his wrist and —

Robb stays very, very still as Theon licks his palm clean, _slow_ , slightly smirking, as if he’s enjoying _every damned second of it_.

“You know what,” Robb says, “if you manage to _not_ make me get out of this room with a raging hard-on in the next, what, five minutes, you’ve _totally_ got a deal.”

Theon grins very, very wide as he tucks himself back in before dropping to his knees just as Robb leans against the desk.

“I think it’s _very_ doable, Robb,” he says, and a moment later he’s pushed Robb’s jeans down and put his mouth on his dick with _enough_ enthusiasm that Robb could come just from _that_.

He doesn’t, but it _does_ take Theon less than five minutes.

Robb is _definitely_ , absolutely going to hold up his end of that deal.

——

Or better: he _will_ hold up his end of the deal, _if_ week two of shooting doesn’t end in a bloodbath.

Never mind that he spent an hour yesterday discussing with Barbrey because apparently Mace Tyrell somehow noticed that his eyes with the cheap lenses looked _greener_ than in the other takes and after Robb had to put his foot down about _not_ wearing them again, so then the compromise was that he’s had to re-shoot the scenes he already did on the first day, and of course Margaery didn’t appreciate that and everyone stared at him for the entire afternoon as if it was _his_ fault and not theirs.

That was _nothing_ in comparison to the shitstorm that is going down now.

Because of course today it _hailed_ which meant that the external scenes they were supposed to shoot are nowhere near doable, especially since it’s supposed to be _summer_ in this bloody movie and you can get away with rain but not hail, so Mormont tried to switch the schedule and Taena Merryweather threw a fit because _people weren’t ready_ (translation: hadn’t revised their lines), but at least he won that fight and so now Margaery is frantically revising the scenes they were supposed to shoot two days from now because of course _she only revises in depth everything the day before so she’s focused_.

Robb would just like to state it took him a week to learn the entire bloody part, but never mind.

Because the problem is, they have a scene with the three of them where both he and Theon are supposed to try and up-flirt each other while making a move on her and she keeps on forgetting the lines.

Robb honestly hopes that Bronn explodes and tells everyone that this movie sucks ass and almost no one is professional on this set, and given his face right now, he looks dangerously close to it.

“I’m telling you,” Taena tells Mormont, “Stark’s distracting her.”

 _Sweet Jesus_ , he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut.

“ _How_ exactly,” Mormont groans.

“He’s standing too close!”

“Taena, have you _read_ the script? He has to be _all over her_ and Greyjoy has to try and stop him, he _can’t_ do that if he’s not standing close.”

Robb is just glad that at least the director isn’t a complete fucking idiot.

Theon is rolling his eyes over Margaery’s shoulder and Robb doesn’t dare doing the same just because he _knows_ someone is watching him and would bring it up next time he tries to convince them it’s not worth to go blind for this damned piece of shit movie, but he shares the feeling.

“Fine,” Taena has to agree, “but if only he wasn’t so _crowding_ —”

Robb is about to snap, but —

“Merryweather,” Theon says, sounding _fairly_ pissed off, “his entire damned _part_ is being crowding. And he’s the only one in between all of us who didn’t need to read off the script on the first day, can you just _stop_ behaving like he’s the only reason we can’t get shit done? Because honestly, he’s one of the few reasons _anything_ gets done at this point.”

 _What_ —

Robb is about to thank him, even if it _might_ give out how he feels about this whole mess without a chance to deny it, and Taena looks _livid_ , except that —

“Greyjoy?”

What — that was Barbrey. Shouldn’t she be in the other building?

“Yes?” Theon asks, not even attempting to pretend he cares.

“There was a call for you in the office, I told them to call back here and I’d get you. It’s urgent.”

“Go,” Mormont says, “we can all take fifteen, get some tea and let Margaery revise her part, how about it?”

Good thing he’s conciliatory, when he wants to. Everyone agrees and Theon shakes his head before following Barbrey into the hallway.

Robb heads for the nearest vending machine, finds a couple quid in his trousers’s pocket — who knows how they ended up in his costume, but _who cares_ — and gets himself a Coke, he thinks he sorely needs some sugar before he snaps at someone, and he’s thirsty.

Which means he finishes it in a minute, embarrassingly, and — why the _hell_ were those two girls from the costume department staring and giggling as he was drinking? Fuck’s sake, he has a feeling they’re openly ogling, which would be… flattering, he supposes, if he hadn’t caught those two wondering if he got drunk every evening after shooting and deducing that he most probably did.

He’s starting to get _really_ tired of this song, he decides. He throws away the Coke, fixes his dumb tank top and — huh. It’s been five minutes and Theon’s not back yet. Maybe it was a longer-than-usual-for-being-at-work call, he decides.

That is, until the break is over and Theon’s not here yet.

“Where the _hell_ is Greyjoy now,” Taena pretty much screeches.

“Hey, fine, I’ll go get him,” Robb says before this can turn ugly. “Chill, I’ll be back in a minute, he probably hasn’t realized the break’s up.”

She doesn’t tell him no and he flees the set without ceremonies, asking one of the interns where he can find the phone Theon would be using. He’s given directions and heads there, figuring that Theon most likely _did_ forget they had fifteen and didn’t realize it.

“ — In what language do I have to tell you? I’m _not_ doing it, _especially_ if — for fuck’s sake, we’ve been discussing this for an eternity and I told you it’s a no, can you just make peace with it?”

… Well, that sounded like Theon is _completely_ pissed off. He pauses for a moment, then —

“I said fucking _no_ , and you also shouldn’t call me while I’m at work — yes, it’s shitty work but it’s _work_ and no, I’m not thinking back on it. My — no, I know Asha doesn’t give two fucks if I do it or not, I _talk_ to her. _No_ , I know he doesn’t want second chances already. Honestly, fuck you all and don’t bother calling — _shit_ , I’m late for the shoot,” Theon says into the phone the moment he sees Robb standing at the door. “The answer’s no. Don’t bother calling again.”

He slams the phone into the receiver, running a hand along his jacket because of course he can’t undo his make-up or his hair.

“Shit,” he says, “I’m late, right? Sorry, uh, it’s just —”

“Hey, just — they can wait another five minutes, Margaery still has to memorize an entire scene anyway,” Robb tells him, shaking his head. “Listen, I don’t need to know what it was, but — are you all right? It looked fairly bad.”

“It’s — well, it _does_ , but — did I ever mention I hate most of my relatives?”

“Once or twice,” Robb smiles tentatively.

“Well, it’s about _them_. Shit, we really should go back —”

Thing is: Robb has spent three quarters of his life on a farm, sharing with _five_ siblings, counting Jon, who _always_ used to look like this every damned time he got a call from his parents — well, his _technical_ parents, even if he saw them maybe twice per year. Mostly because it meant the rest of his father’s relatives would be put on the phone.

He knows that look.

He also knows he shouldn’t wrinkle at least Theon’s clothes, but who cares.

It’s probably _fairly_ telling that the moment Robb hugs him, Theon stands still for a moment before reciprocating it.

“You looked like you needed one,” Robb says a moment later.

“Shit. Maybe I did,” Theon says, moving _closer_.

“Hey,” Robb replies, “how about — you come over tonight but just for dinner and relax a bit? If you want to, of course.”

Theon nods against his shoulder before reluctantly moving away. “I _kinda_ might have done with the sex, but — never mind. That’s what I do when I want to avoid thinking about them and I shouldn’t. Okay. Yeah, sure, good idea. Do I get the soda bread?”

“Oh, I think you might,” Robb winks, and Theon laughs, barely but he does, and a moment later Taena Merryweather is calling for them to get on set already.

“Fuck,” Robb sighs, “I guess we have to. Ready?”

“No, but I have to pay the bills. Let’s just get this fucking mess of a scene done with it.”

“I like the spirit,” Robb says, even if he agrees with Theon’s statement _fully_.

Turns out, Margaery _hasn’t_ managed to get the entire thing straight, so they end up filming it with someone holding up cues behind their shoulders at all times which is honestly the most fucking ridiculous thing Robb’s ever seen and it makes for a lousier love scene than average, and given how _bad_ this movie is that’s saying all, but at least it means that by five PM they’re all let go because that’s about the amount of stress anyone can take and the weather still sucks too much for external shoots.

Good, Robb thinks. It means he has time to buy something to cook from scratch, and he could actually just make some more bread, Joffrey _shouldn’t_ be home. After all, Theon _did_ like it the first time, so maybe it might cheer him up now, and given how broody he has looked since that call, maybe he’s in dire need of it.

Maybe as much as _he_ feels in dire need of _really_ getting drunk like the worst stereotype, pass out and wake up two weeks from now when this torture will be _done_.

——

“And you’re telling me your roommate didn’t appreciate _this_ either?”

“Oh, he pretends not to,” Robb says after swallowing his portion of stew. “Except that I left some for myself in the fridge the last time I made it so I could re-heat it and I’m sure he ate half of it without asking.”

“ _What_?”

“And he denied it when I asked if maybe _someone he knew_ might have. Well, guess I’d need better lodgings but I’d need _steady work_ , fuck that noise.”

“Well,” Theon tells him after taking another spoonful, “your roommate’s an idiot and an hypocrite. And I suppose he’s coming back at some point?”

“Probably, but he’s always out late if it’s for _family business_. Anyway, just take however much you want. And I should probably inform you that no one at home believes you think _my_ cooking is that good.”

“Do they want it signed on paper?”

“ _Please_ , that’d shut them up,” Robb says, and it’s probably not _too_ hygienic that they’re eating on his bed but he doesn’t want to deal with Joffrey complaining about his precious kitchen being occupied when he’s back with whoever he hooked up with this evening. And — it’s almost cozy, he figures, in the way sleepovers at sixteen are, but he doesn’t say that and eats some more, figuring that Theon’s going to talk when he’s ready, _if_ he wants to.

Then —

“About this afternoon,” Theon sighs. “It’s — right. Just, my father was supposed to stay in jail for another ten years tops.”

“And he’s not?”

“Well, _technically_ , but — he’s managed to get someone to release him on parole for _good behavior_ or whatever, my uncle’s new lawyer apparently was very good, and now he wants to meet up and they’re trying to convince me to go for it in every other way and I have absolutely no intention to.”

Robb nods and says nothing, letting him go on. Theon gets another helping from the bowl in between the two of them before he does. “And — anyway, fact is, he was terrible, had always been, he didn’t want me to act, every single time I went to see him I came out of it feeling miserable, the last time we did he _still_ was trying to convince me to quit _wasting time acting_ as if he thought I’d value his opinion, and now the uncles want to organize a _welcome home party_ and they think I should be there _and_ bring my mother.”

“That… doesn’t sound like you want to?”

“Given that my mother, thanks to _him_ , had a nervous breakdown bad enough she had to stay in a psych ward for two years after he went to jail, I think it’s a _very_ fucking bad idea. And they’re divorced, technically, but according to them he wants to apologize.”

“That didn’t sound like you buy that, either?”

“Oh, he _tried_ to apologize to me, the last time I went there, but his apologies pretty much always imply _I_ was the culprit in the first place. Like, fuck that noise. Anyway, she’s with my uncle in Edinburgh and she’s _not_ leaving under his watch so I’m not too worried about _that_. I’m worried about what he even wants from me because like hell there isn’t a catch.”

Robb can see _entirely_ too well why he was _that_ pissed off, before. “Sounds like a proper piece of shit.”

“Yeah, _well_ , the infamous reunion party should have been _at Christmas_. Last time we spent it in the same place, he had invited over a _work colleague_ who came with his teenage son who was the kind of person who killed kittens for fun when he was nine and before the evening was over, that asshole broke one of my fingers, my mother was a wreck, my sister had to call the police at the ripe age of thirteen because no one else was in a fit state to do it and he got arrested the following month. I’m entirely _not_ looking forward to it.”

Robb swallows his food, feeling like he’s not going to stomach it, but thankfully he _does_ , even if after that he doesn’t feel too hungry anymore. If he thinks that he can’t wait to go back home for Christmas this year…

“Shit, I wouldn’t go either,” Robb says, “actually you should just tell Barbrey to _not_ hand you that kind of call if —”

“Yeah, I _did_ tell her.”

“And she did anyway?”

“It was _urgent_ and who is she to not put them through, right?”

“Well, at least I have the minor consolation that I’m not the _only_ one who gets continuously disregarded on that set.”

Theon laughs, and at least it does seem like his mood lifted a bit. “Believe me, you’re _not_. But you’ve got it way worse. And I still think people are dumb if they want to put lenses on your eyes, but what do I know.”

“Aw, how _romantic_ of you,” Robb says, and Theon sends him an almost wounded look, if it wasn’t obvious that it’s totally fake.

“Fuck you,” he says, “and you know, you’re unfair.”

“ _I_ am unfair?”

“Your _existence_ is. Usually it takes people a lot more to lift my mood when we’re discussing my fucking father.”

“Wow, I’m flattered,” Robb says, _meaning it_ , and — thing is, he _likes_ Theon, regardless of how they’re sexually compatible, and he wants to think that they’re _friends_ other than _with benefits_ , even if they’ve known each other for what, two weeks and a half? Then again, it happens that you just click with people, doesn’t it?

And most of all, he _does_ look like he needs better plans for Christmas.

“Yeah, well,” Theon sighs, “I’ll just stay home, get drunk on eggnog like every single year since I’ve lived on my own and I’ll be better off for it.”

“That’s sad.”

“Not all of us can afford to not behave _sadly_ at fucking Christmas,” Theon shrugs. “Though if you left me some food to re-heat for then I wouldn’t say now.”

Oh, fuck that.

“And how about,” Robb says instead, “I tell my parents I might bring someone with?”

Theon’s fork drops on his almost empty plate. “Wait, _what_?”

“Hey, that house is big and my room is still empty _and_ fairly large, my mother most likely wouldn’t even _notice_ one more person since it’s us, her uncle, her brother, the brother’s girlfriend and one of my uncles on my dad’s side _unless_ some life-long family drama has died down meanwhile. Ah, and both my sisters’s boyfriends, _and_ I’m almost sure Jon’s bringing _all_ his friends plus he’s in kind of a three-way thing last he told me. They wouldn’t mind having you. I already have tickets booked and everything because like _hell_ I was going to spend Christmas in this forsaken polluted place where it always rains _and_ you barely see a healthy tree, but I’m fairly sure you can still find a couple plane tickets.”

Theon just _stares_ at him — it’s obvious he hadn’t expected it in the slightest. “Seriously?”

“Why not? Door’s always open. And you could actually tell my mom that my cooking doesn’t suck.”

“But — I mean, do you always invite over your friends with benefits that you haven’t known for a month?”

“Listen, when my sister Sansa got together with the guy who took over the nearby farm and brought him over, we had no idea they even _knew_ each other.”

“ _How_?”

“Hey, we cut him some slack, I mean he bought out a farm that was half-dead because he wanted to get away from _people_ and he has half of his face burned off because his brother pushed him on a coal stove when he was twelve, he had _issues_. And he was perfectly nice.”

“And your brother’s into a _three-way_ thing and is bringing his _friends_?”

It’s almost cute that Theon’s _that_ scandalized. “Well, long story short, he’s technically the cousin but my aunt and her husband were just… not a really good fit for raising kids at that point in their lives. And they lived with the husband’s father who was a downright fucking asshole of the worst kind and at some point they sent Jon with us because someone called social services and they weren’t too happy, and when he came over to live with us he wasn’t, well, too big on _socialization_ as his teachers kept on complaining, but he ended up making friends with the three people in his entire class who came from worse places than him so they _always_ are there for Christmas and stuff because either their parents can’t afford it or are dead or are terrible. And he’s in a thing with _one_ of those three _and_ this girl from Derry who moved into town when they were all in high school.”

“And your parents are totally okay with that?”

Robb smirks. “Hey, they own a farm, they aren’t bigots.”

Theon half-chokes on the water he had been drinking. “Fair, fair, though I’m sure if we told our amazing scriptwriter _that_ , they would be completely shocked.”

“Please, Lannister probably thinks no one drives a car outside Dublin at this point. That said, I _know_ I lucked out with my parents and it wasn’t a given that they’d be okay with it, and it’s hardly the norm. But really, they’re _that_ cool.”

“Point taken,” Theon agrees. “And how would you introduce the two of us?”

Robb moves the plate away. “Well, you could be my _friend_ and that’s it. I don’t think they’d mind if I said it was with benefits. But hey, we’ve been doing this since shooting started and it seems like we’re doing candlelight dinners _and_ now we’re eating food on my bed like fucking schoolgirls, if you wanna say we’re together I won’t be the one denying it.”

Theon’s eyes go slightly wider in the dark, his lips parting in surprise as his hand reaches out and his fingers brush against Robb’s cheek, his fingertips slightly trembling. “You — seriously?”

“Is that so weird?”

“No, it’s just — I really don’t do _relationships_ , usually,” Theon snorts. “I’m — exceedingly _bad_ at them. Actually I don’t know if I ever was this friendly with someone I was screwing.”

“Hm,” Robb says, “there’s always a first time, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, you’re for real.”

“Sure I’m for real, I don’t joke about inviting people over for the holidays. Anyway, you don’t have to answer now, it was just —”

“All right,” Theon interrupts.

“— so that you could think about — wait, did you just say yes?”

“You’re telling me I get to try cooking even better than _yours_ and you’re thinking my sad alternative of re-heated food and eggnog is alluring, in comparison? If you’re sure, okay. I’d — yeah. Shit, why the hell not. It’s not like I was going to go up to Scotland anyway.”

“Any particular reason?”

“My mom’s just not doing Christmas anymore, period. And who blames her. But really, if you mean it —”

“You want to book tomorrow, I’ll just tell them.”

Theon’s grinning for real now, not the one he plasters on his face when he talks to the production executives or Margaery or Taena Merryweather, and it’s such a lovely, sincere smile, and Robb thinks he’s kind of in the gutter here, but they just admitted it, didn’t they, and when they kiss a moment later it’s not rushed at all — they keep it slow, barely using tongue, and Robb _kind_ of really just wants to make out for the next hour or so as it is. Maybe they _could._ They do have the time.

“All right,” Theon says, sounding like he can’t believe his own words, “I will. When are you leaving?”

“We finish shooting on the fifteenth,” Robb says against his mouth. “I have tickets for the six AM plane on the sixteenth, it was cheaper _and_ emptier, my dad’s coming to get me in Dublin and then he’s driving me back. And I have the return for January 10th, it’s not like I had any other engagements.”

“Hm, guess what, I don’t have any, either,” Theon grins. “Sounds doable. So —”

“Do I tell them I’m bringing the _someone special_ they always nag me to tell them about?”

“ _Fuck you_ , don’t or it’s going to be embarrassing as —”

“I’d rather fuck _you_ , if it’s all the same to you, but don’t worry, I’ll put in less embarrassing terms.”

“ _Good_ ,” Theon groans, and then drags Robb on top of him, their mouths meeting again but now it’s faster and _harder_ , and Robb decides that he can’t fucking wait for this movie to be done shooting _and_ to tell his parents he’s indeed bringing someone with, for once.

He really cannot.

——

Theon finds the tickets, Robb calls home and tells them the truth and it’s probably telling that the only thing his mother has to comment is that _finally_ he’s bringing someone over and she was getting worried that after Jeyne Westerling in high school he’d end up sticking to one-night stands.

(Jeyne was his first girlfriend, and the one he lost his v-card to, and viceversa, and she was lovely and he misses her, but her family ended up moving to Australia at the end of their third year of high school and she said she’d write but she never did, and he knows it was because her mother always hated him and couldn’t stand that her daughter would date someone whose parents weren’t _at least_ business owners, but still. He felt like shit for a full-on year after _that_. And he’s never had a serious relationship since, as bad as it sound, even if he’s dated a few people here and there.)

Which means that they only have one week and a half left of that hellish movie before they can _leave_ and spend the next twenty days or so in peace, and Robb honestly can’t wait to be home again without fucking Joffrey harping at him for his food, his accent and fuck knows what else and he can’t wait for the two of them to be on their own without the damned _movie_ in between.

Except that the week and a half is fucking _awful_ — never mind that Robb still hates his role more than he’s ever hated any character he’s played until now, but he spends the total of three days shooting his not-so-torrid love scenes with Margaery that always end up taking ten takes each if it goes well, _still_ playing the sort-of-caveman and cringing at the horrid accent of everyone else who-is-supposed-to-be-Irish who has scenes with him.

Meanwhile Theon has to do the whole tentative romance thing with hand holding, dates and whatnot and absolutely nothing sexual in between because he’s the _nice guy_ out of the two of them and Robb keeps on thinking, _if only you knew what we did a couple days ago with that rope_. If anything, he _can_ play that perfectly, which only shows he’s wasted in this flick.

He only lasts through the week knowing that at six PM on the 15th they’re _done_ and they can go home and have that long, glorious celebratory fuck before they leave. Admittedly, he has _planned_ it. He even splurged some money on the _good_ kind of lube and a few things Theon had _maybe_ told him he could have totally been into trying out. He even prepared dinner so that they don’t have to wait and can just re-heat it. For that matter, Theon’s flat-out told him that thinking about Robb nailing him to that bed for three hours has _also_ been one of the few things keeping him from snapping at everyone who’s not Bronn or Mormont.

On the last day, they meet at the entrance just before going in.

“Shit,” Theon says, “can you believe I’m packed already?”

“Can’t wait to try my mom’s cooking?”

“Mostly, to go somewhere my relatives can’t track me, but other than that…” He winks, and Robb kind of wants to kiss him, but doing it _now_ would be just fucking stupid, wouldn’t it.

“Good to know I can at least bring _that_ to the table,” Robb grins. “Right. We only have that one scene together in the afternoon. I’ll see you then, I guess.”

“Ah, right, the one where you _insult me like a barbarian_?”

“Listen, I spent the entire night telling myself that they pay enough to make me survive in London another six months and that’s the only way I’ll manage to shoot it. Anyway, yeah, then I think they have something else but _we_ are cool.”

“Good grief, six PM can’t come to soon,” Theon groans. “See you then, _partner_.”

Robb smiles as he hurries towards the set and takes a deep breath, then follows him.

This is going to be a fucking _bad_ day, he can feel it in his bones already, but after today he’s done and he’ll have earned his money and the nightmare will be over and he’s gained _more_ than money thanks to this shitty movie, so — he can do this.

Or so he tells himself.

——

It goes as usual until the damned scene where they have to fight in front of Margaery and she eventually picks Theon over his rude self (of course).

It’s six in the afternoon — they ran kind of late, but not too much. They could be done in one take, if everyone did their job well.

 _If_.

Two hours later, they still haven’t done it because Margaery ruined her manicure thrice all over again and so every time it’s time lost because someone has to come re-do her nail polish, and that was one hour and so lost, then Taena decided the two of them were being too _rough_ while punching each other ( _no_ , Robb could tell her, _we’re just looking for some physical contact I think_ ), so they had to rehearse it _before_ until she decided it was fine, then someone spilled coke on Margaery’s skirt and they had to find a replacement.

Robb just wants to do this damned scene and go, except that it’s apparently not so easy.

“Guys,” Mormont says, “I know we’re all tired, but we need _more_. I mean, Robb, Theon, neither of you was looking too convinced during the last take.”

“I think we’re both tired,” Theon salvages the situation before Robb can tell him he has exhausted any force of will. “The next take will be better.”

Fair. He just has to pretend he gives a shit another time.

“Sorry,” he says, “I guess I was off my game a little. I’m good to go.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Mormont says. “Come on, let’s do this again.”

They’re ready.

And then _the power goes out_.

“What the hell,” Bronn says, before moving away from the set and checking outside along with a few other people. He comes back looking fairly livid, from what little Robb can see. “It’s out also on the other side of the road,” he says. “So I guess we can just eat a couple sandwiches and wait for it.”

 _Fuck, no_.

“No way,” Margaery says, “there’s the wrap-up party at ten PM, I _have_ to be there.”

Robb knows Bronn wants to tell her _we’d be done if it wasn’t for your bloody manicure_ , but he doesn’t, same as _he_ doesn’t even if he feels like it and even if _he_ has more urgent plans than the wrap-up party, especially given that to be at the airport at five-thirty in the morning they have to leave his place at three at latest and if this drags on longer he has a feeling they’ll barely make it.

Fuck.

“It’s not like we can do anything about it except hope it comes back soon,” Mormont says, trying to placate the cimate. Robb would thank him for the effort, except —

“And maybe we’d be done if we had done the last take _well_ ,” Taena says, and Robb doesn’t go off at her just because Theon kicks him in the shin — fair enough.

“Maybe one gets bored after filming it ten times,” Theon says instead, and Robb just wants the light to be back so they’re _done_ with this —

“And we can’t even use the one before,” Taena goes on, “no thanks to _you,_ Stark.”

Wait, _what_ , the one before was — one that was _almost_ fine except that in the last ten seconds Margaery had to go in between them and she half-slipped on the ground so that ended up looking awkward, but that was it.

“Sorry, how was _I_ the problem in that take?” Robb asks, feeling like his head is going to explode.

“You were speaking too fast when you were insulting him,” she says.

“… That part is _not_ in English,” Robb says.

“Yeah, and you still were speaking too fast.”

“I was — _no one_ who is going to watch this movie will understand it anyway,” Robb protests, “and for that matter if I speak fast _maybe_ the ten people in this country who understand it won’t hear that it’s completely fucking wrong.”

Theon kicks him in the shin again, but at this point he’s _really_ pissed off.

“Excuse you, it’s _what_?”

“ _Wrong_ ,” Robb says, “for one, _bealin’_ is Scottish, not Irish. Same as _crabbit_.”

“And how would _you_ know that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, _because_ if you had read my CV you’d know that I’m bilingual, but it’s all the same to you, I’d like to think I can pronounce my own fucking language correctly.”

Bronn laughs openly, Theon kicks him in the shin again, someone behind them groans and he’s this close to tell everyone to fuck themselves and he’s done, but right, the money. He needs the damned money.

“So,” he says, “I’m fine with saying whatever you want me to but fuck’s sake, we all know _why_ that take wasn’t good, but you can just _not mention_ it and avoid pinning it on me, how about that?”

He’s probably saved from any possible worst consequences of that outburst by the light coming back on, finally, just as Mormont catches the drift.

“Right, let’s just do this so she can go to the party and we can wrap things up, okay?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Theon says _way_ too cheerfully.

Robb just exchanges an icy glare with Taena and moves back into position. He’s _this_ tempted to actually change the script to the correct version, it’s not like they’ll ever get it, but…

He smiles to himself.

Okay, _maybe_ he can do something about it.

——

“You said something that wasn’t in the script,” Theon tells him at one AM after they _finally_ , finally leave the premises — they _did_ finish that scene in time, but then Barbrey kept them behind for _finalizing contractual details_ and so on and Robb is halfway sure that they only did that to mess with him as much as they could.

“Oh, yes,” Robb says, “but no one noticed, did they?”

“I don’t think so,” Theon replies. “Come on, you can tell me. What was it? I mean, I _heard_ it but who even kept track of it.”

“Oh, it was when I was telling Margaery that she wasn’t worth my time and all that crap. You mean, _imeacht gan do thuairisc ort_?"

“… Yeah. _That_ wasn’t in the script.”

“It means _may you never be heard of again_ , which admittedly was _mean_ , but —”

The last thing he expected was Theon bending in two for how hard he starts laughing in the middle of the road.

“Shit,” he says, “this makes up _entirely_ for the fact that at this point we’ll barely manage to get to the airport in time and missing on that monumental fuck you owe me.”

“Oh,” Robb says, “I’m _absolutely_ making up for it the moment we’re left alone at home. But yeah. Shit, at least they paid us.”

“Fuck, the most hard-earned money ever,” Theon grins, “but hey, we did get something nice out of that mess, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Robb smiles, wishing he could kiss him but not daring to — it’s still outside and they’re heading for the underground and the last thing he needs is someone seeing them and causing trouble when they need to be on a plane in five hours.

But — yeah. It’s true. They definitely did.

_One Week Later_

“Not yet,” Robb says, and he would probably feel bad about it, if Theon wasn’t _way_ more into it than _he_ is, and honestly, the more he looks at his flushed face and parted lips and long hair plastered all over Robb’s pillow after Robb’s kept him on edge for the last half hour or so after _finally_ putting on him that cock ring he bought in London weeks ago, the more he feels turned on and given that he’s come twice already (one in Theon’s mouth, one after jerking himself off a few moments ago because he wanted his head clear… well, it’s _very much_ turned on. “Unless you need a break.”

“No,” Theon says, shaking his head, _strangely_ not trying to be smart, even if he did go for it a bit in the beginning. He’s _not_ now, though. “Fuck, _fuck —_ ”

“Easy,” Robb says, his hand reaching for the lube on the nightstand. He coats a couple of fingers again, then grins. “ _You_ were the one wanting me to draw it out, hm? So,” he says, moving his fingers towards his ass, touching on the rim, _slightly_ , but given that he licked his way in not long before then it’s not _too_ tight. “Should I?”

“Yes, _fuck_ ,” Theon groans.

“How do you ask?” Robb grins.

“ _Please_ , will you?” He quips back, and he _does_ sound slightly less deferential than one should be in this case, but Robb never liked his partners _deferential_.

“But of course,” Robb grins. “Be a dear and relax, won’t you?” He adjusts the pillow under Theon’s hips a bit more, then pushes a couple fingers inside him, slow, without hurry, grinning when Theon tugs at the rope tying him to Robb’s old bed, good thing it was hand-made with _sturdy_ wood. Then he pours some more lube on them and pushes in _harder_ , and Theon moans loud enough that it rivals the slight creaking of the bed, and good thing that Robb went and picked the one day _everyone else_ would be out to do this.

Oh, everything’s gone splendidly, for _that_ matter, but he’s sure no one related to him actually wants to know what they’re doing in here.

“There, _there_. Hm, tá tú chomh tais,” he says, and while Theon most likely has _no_ idea Robb just told him he’s _very much_ wet, it does have the effect he wanted since Theon’s hips snap upward and his eyes turn slightly more glazed.

“Wow,” Robb goes on, scissoring his fingers just a bit, smiling as Theon loudly admits enthusiasm, “you _really_ like when I do that, hm?”

“What — what if I do?” Theon breathes back, his voice choked, his cheeks a darker shade of pink.

“No one’s judging you,” Robb says, and pushes his fingers in _deeper_ —

It’s probably a good thing he was keeping his knees around Theon’s thighs or he’d have jumped off the bed. That said, he’s managing to keep his arms fairly loose regardless of the knots, which means he’s not tugging on those ropes too much — Robb won’t complain, at least he’s not worrying about his circulation.

On his side, his own dick is getting interested _all over again_ and shit, he rarely comes thrice in such a short amount of time, but he’s not going to complain. He rubs his cock against Theon’s leg a few times if only to have the minimum friction, then breathes in and fingers him again, and _again_ , and then he thinks _why the hell not_ and puts a third finger in, and at that point Theon’s not even trying to stay quiet.

Then again, they’re in the middle of nowhere and the only living beings around are the animals in the nearby field, and Robb is fairly sure none of them gives a single damn about what they’re up to.

He wipes at his own forehead, he’s covered in sweat now, then he leans down and moves his free hand behind Theon’s head before leaning down for a kiss, and Theon immediately kisses back, opening up to his tongue without waiting a second, and then he moans again into it the moment Robb thrusts his fingers inside him all over until he’s positively writhing. Good. Maybe it’s time he moves on with it before they both fucking burst.

“Right,” he says, “I’m taking the ring off. But _not yet_ , clear?”

“Yes,” Theon answers, and his eyes are almost all pupil and Robb’s so fucking turned on he’s about to come without even touching himself here.

“Good,” he says, noticing how Theon seems to preen at that, at how he presses against the hand he has still at the back of his head. Hm. _Interesting_.

He gets rid of the cock ring, putting it to the side, then wraps his finger around the tip of Theon’s cock just so he’s not even tempted to let go.

“Spread your legs, hm?” Robb asks, and Theon does it at once. “Nice,” he says, “I could get used to it.”

Theon says nothing as Robb lines up with his ass, the skin around the opening sticky with lube, and when Robb fucks into him slow at first, taking his time to push and making sure he’s stretched to the right point, he _keens_ against him, his legs going behind Robb’s back, but _not_ pushing any further.

Robb gives a full-on thrust and Theon’s legs grip at his sides _tighter_.

“No,” he says, “níos moille an am seo,” he goes on, and Theon makes that turned on sound _again_ , the one he makes whenever Robb doesn’t speak English and _only_ then and shit, next time Robb’s just not going to speak English period just to see how it goes.

He has a feeling it won’t last long, but maybe they should try.

Not now, though.

 _Now_ —

Robb reaches out, undoes the knots on Theon’s wrists quickly, thank fuck he didn’t make them too complicated, then pins his wrists to the bed directly while their mouths crash again, and —

“Right,” he says, “you can stop holding back, if you’re nice about it.”

“If _I_ —”

“What do you say — if _I_ say you can come?”

Theon’s eyes go from slightly confused to understanding in a moment. “Thank you,” he says, _entirely_ serious, for once, and fuck, they _really_ need to discuss this more in depth because they kinda stumbled upon it and Robb _kind_ of wants to see how far Theon wants go with it, but —

“Then you can, a mhuirnín,” he says, and it’s probably a good thing that Theon has _no_ idea of what it means yet because maybe it was a bit too soon to call each other _darling_ or for Robb to do it, but hey, until Theon doesn’t know, who prevents Robb from doing it when he feels like it’s absolutely the right word?

Regardless, it doesn’t matter — Theon about _screams_ before he comes against him, _hard_ , and of course he would when he’s been holding back this long, and Robb leans down to kiss him as he thrusts into him again, and again, until he’s coming as well, not as hard as the first time but that’s fine, _that_ wasn’t the point, and he barely even notices that they’re both sticky beyond acceptable as it feels like every single joint in his spine is weightless and pleasure seems to shoot through every drop of blood he has running in his veins, and Theon seems to be on the same page given how _blissed_ his face looks. He slows down, kissing him again, and again, smiling into it, until not long later, they’re both breathing hard, lying on the bed, Theon on his left side and Robb on his right, Robb’s left arm around his waist and the other buried in his hair.

“Fuck,” Theon says, “you weren’t lying when you said you were gonna make up for all the times those assholes robbed us of time to actually _do this.”_

“Hey, I keep my promises,” Robb laughs, moving closer. “And we still have some two hours before they come back from the annual Christmas movie trip.”

“Fuck, you mean we could do this _again_?”

“That, and if we get a shower and they’re back in time I could borrow the car and bring you to that nice pub in town I still haven’t managed to drag you to.”

“Nice,” Theon says, “I like that plan. And I still think I should get at least a present for your parents, even if you all keep on saying I shouldn’t.”

“It’s lovely that you want to but they don’t mind.”

“Yeah, and my family sucks ass but I _know_ how this stuff is supposed to go and maybe for once I want to do the adjusted thing?”

… That’s a fair point, Robb decides, and — well. Right. He doesn’t need to do that, but —

“And if we’re really serious, maybe I should try adjusted,” Theon says under his breath, and Robb shakes his head and kisses him again.

“Okay,” he says, “there are a few shops in there anyway. We have enough time to do both things if we are faster here, but I think we _do_ have half an hour at least. And I really wanted to eat you out, unless you _really_ want to hurry —”

“Robb?” Theon interrupts him, his cheeks flushing, _again_. “How about you get down to it? _Pretty please_?”

He grins back, kissing him one last time before moving his hands down to Theon’s hips.

“Couldn’t wait for it,” he says, “and tá fáilte romhat,” he says, and no one should look so turned on because Robb said _you’re welcome_ , but he’s absolutely not going to complain.

He thinks he’d rather think about getting down to business, and maybe he really should send the production a nice fruit basket, or a nice homemade soda bread basket with some fruit just to mess with them, because of course they wouldn’t know why.

Yeah, _maybe_ he really, really should.

But he’ll think about it another time.

_That Evening_

“So,” Jon asks, “there’s just _one_ thing I really have been pondering about you two.”

“As in?” Robb asks, thankful that it’s just the three of them setting the table.

“You met on a movie set, but you still haven’t told anyone _which_ movie it is.”

At that, Theon clears his throat rather loudly and Robb only barely manages to not curse.

“That’s because that movie is shit and hopefully none of you will ever see it,” Robb finally says. “Really. Don’t press it. Meeting him was about the one good thing about it.”

“How cute,” Theon quips back, “But then again, you’re right. That movie was shit. But I don’t regret taking it.”

“Oh,” Robb grins, “me neither.”

So maybe they end up making out for two minutes rather than finishing with the table, and they barely hear Jon muttering that they’re _entirely_ too saccharine and he says it when he lives with _Sansa_ out of everyone, and maybe he’s right —

But honestly, who even cares?

“Well,” Theon says, “we might be saccharine, but that fucking movie? Fuck, we’re doing it with a lot more class, aren’t we?”

Robb laughs, _hard_ , and can only reply, “Of course we are”, before kissing him again.

No, he doesn’t regret filming that train wreck _at all._

"That said," Theon says when they part for air, "I don't think  _I_ am ever watching that crap, either."

"Please," Robb smiles, "I'm never even learning when it airs."

"Nice to see we're on the same page," Theon grins, and as Robb kisses him again, he decides he's plenty,  _plenty_ glad that they are on  _this_ specific matter, too.

 

 

End.


End file.
